


Love and Basements

by VampireValentine



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Hurt Spike (BtVS), Love Confessions, POV Buffy Summers, POV Spike (BtVS)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29616165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireValentine/pseuds/VampireValentine
Summary: In which Spike and Buffy have a much needed talk and share love confessions. Cathartic conversations and a happy ending. Post Showtime and a brief scene during/post Chosen.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Love and Basements

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting fan fiction. Hope you enjoy! Feedback is welcome :)

Spike doesn't remember how he got here, on this cot in Buffy’s basement. Between crawling out of the cave the cave and stumbling down the street there is nothing. He groans- it’s confusion, it’s awareness of his shattered bones. “Hey,” she whispers, and “Let me see.” Spike avoids her gaze. He doesn't deserve her being here. His eyes burn. “I'm alright, pet,” he breathes, gathering his senses. Not gonna fall apart, he thinks grimly. He will never show his hurt again, he will not look at her, he will not hope. He knows she will not confront herself to love him. Her warm hand hurts more than any blow. 

“Spike.” And all wrapped up in his name is her soft sigh of longing, of confusion, of sadness. Worry, too. And then- a dream?- her mouth is on his, bruised and bloody as it is. The world is ending. The basement has mold in it. The laundry of a dozen slayerettes roars in the washing machine and Buffy has not let go of his face. Spike wants to return her affection. Her need. He’s not worthy enough to want her back, but he does anyway. Is he just a body to her? She nibbles at his lower lip, a tender love bite, and Spike is aware of the wrongness. He gently pushes her off, though he loathes to deny her. He suffers for her willingly, takes her blows and her words. Liked it, half the time. And later, (like before) he will hold her pain and exhaustion and hoist it onto his shoulders, but right now, his ribs ache and he cannot carry her lovely body on his. Tonight is not a night when she can damage the object of his body for her own use. “Buffy,” he says. “I'm sorry.” Of course he is. He wants to give her everything, but right now he is so tired. He expects her to look at him, the way she does, like she’s the one god, the judgment he can’t escape, and leave. Instead, Buffy pulls back, lips still parted, touches his arm. “Okay. Im sorry.”  
“No-” he gasps- “don't ever be sorry. Not to me. I don't deserve it. Please.” God, the old Spike sneers in his mind. He’d torn apart a thousand nancyboys who begged like him. That Spike is alive and well, and hates him for his weakness. But what can he do? It’s her. Because he's hurt her. Again. He can never get it right. He tries so hard to be good for her. “Spike,” she breathes, and he can smell her tears. Oh. He's spoken aloud. 

“I'm sorry,” she says, and she means it. There’s silence, because what else can she say? Not for the first time, all the guilt crashes down. The regret. It wasn’t always like this, she recalls, but it’s a little late for that. She knows she has to do this right, that the next words she says are important, because looking at Spike, she knows something’s broken. Dangerously, terrifyingly close to the edge.

“Spike,” she begins again. “When I was in high school, like a million years ago, I thought I knew about the world. I knew good and evil and sometimes French and chemistry. I was Slayer, The. It was easier to deal with. But when the world gets bigger, it takes some time to grow into it. I made a lot of mistakes.” Spike’s brow furrows, but he won't interrupt her. “My biggest mistake… it was you, Spike.” His throat closes and his eyes burn. “Right, luv.” Dammit. He hadn’t cried in the cave, and he won't now, not in front of her, not for saying what's true. “No-” Buffy cradles his face. “No. I was angry at the world and I hurt you for it, for not hating me, for changing the rules. I couldn’t… Spike… I needed to not live with myself alone. I'm sorry to say there's stuff I can’t regret, but that's part of being slayer, of being me. And right now you still love me for it, for all of it, and for a long time it just wasn't something I could accept.” Hearing truth from her lips makes him feel so strange. The fire in her eyes when she continues reminds him that he could never love anyone else. “But here’s the thing, Spike,” she says, voice turning sharp. “The world is unfair, and it's fickle, and it changes you. It’s given me too many moments to think about what that, what I want, and what I need to do to make it a place I know how to live in.” She pauses, breathing deep. “So, I’ve made up my mind. It’s you. It’s you, because nothing else compares.” Spike feels like crying, cause what else is there to do? “Buff- '' she cuts him off, the sadness, the age disappears and is replaced by steely certainty. God, he loves her, he loves her, he loves her- “Nothing, Spike. I’ll always come for you, and when the apocalypse comes to call and my life comes crashing down again it will always be us. I’m sorry it’s taken this long, but… you know. You’ve always known.” Another pause. “I’m done dying for the world and I’m done waiting. When the hellmouth opens, I’ll let the world burn before I let it burn you.” 

He shivers, it’s a slayer’s oath. That's the oath she's taken to her grave more than once. Spike knows he has to do something besides stare at her like a fool, but all his mind can say is that's love, that's love, that's love over and over. For the first time he believes in her love instead of just her faith. He wants to apologize, for some reason, but Buffy isn’t looking for anything. That time is over now. “I love you,” she says, like she even needs to say it, like it’s the only thing worth saying anymore. Her words are without angst. 

She turns her back. Starts to climb the stairs. Does not ask Spike to devote himself. Spike is watching her like a dream until the dead-spike monster-spike arrogant-spike love mad-violent-bad boy-spike bites him and lives. The beast roars, reminding him of himself. Spike gets off the cot and rolls his shoulders like he's sexy. He knows she loves the way he moves. He ignores the pain to stumble over to the foot of the stairs and catch her hand, and again comes that pause they keep sharing, the distance between their eyes. Spike says I love you like the world is his and for the first time in a long time it is. Buffy kisses him with passion. Spike hears himself say trust me? And the waves crash in his ears when she says she does. 

………………..

Weeks later, the man she loves is bringing down the caverns of hell. His goodness is burning him and he is suffering so beautifully, and she loves him. The end of the world, and it's just them again, and again, and again. “Run,” he says, and he does not sound afraid. “Not without you,” she promises, and does not allow him to protest. Spike was never a planner, but she is, and wraps him in a sweatshirt and blanket she brought just in case. One more time, pulls him back from the brink of destruction. The embers of his soul burning hot as they start to run, and he knows she loves him.


End file.
